People can be home, too
by unforgetabELLE
Summary: "What are you thinking about?" "Where I grew up," she responded immediately. "You never talk about it," he murmured, leaning his arm casually behind her on the bench, not quite touching much as she teased Marinette about her eternal crush on Adrien, her and Nino may have surpassed them in the slow burn department. She twisted, leaning against him. "Yeah, I don't really..."


_**AN: I'm stuck on a scene in the sequel to Not Alone that's in Alya's POV, so I wrote this trying to get in her head a bit more. For some reason, though I love writing her dialogue, her internal thoughts are a challenge for me.**_

 _ **Annnywhooo, the backstory for Alya and Nino is what I have imagined for Not Alone and the sequel, Never Far Away, but the timeline is off, so it probably won't make it into the sequel. Enjoy!**_

"Arrggghhh," Alya pushed back from her desk, letting her chair spin lazily in a circle, her body sinking into the spiraling equilibrium. It was impossible. This was at least the tenth article she'd submitted this week and only two of them had actually been used by the sites she'd written them for. She loved journalism, and she had things to say, but after so many rejections so close together, it was starting to become tedious.

She'd made a name for herself as a reporter on all things Ladynoir. Ladyblog was still the top blog for all things superhero-even moreso now that she had the inside scoop, not that she'd ever reveal that-but she wanted to broaden her horizons. She wasn't going to stay in Paris forever, only ever covering miraculous news. There were so many stories out there: crime, intrigue, human interest, political revolutions. Alya wanted to see it all, but to do that she'd need to get into a top notch program. And to do _that_ , she needed to make herself known. She refused for her entire career to revolve around her coverage of Ladybug.

Getting up, she tried to shake off her self-pity. So what if it was hard? No one wanted her stuff yet, but it was because she was young and inexperienced. Reporting was about trust, and people didn't know her name enough to trust her yet. She knew she was a good writer; she'd just have to prove it to them.

The piece she was currently writing had potential to do just that. The opposite of the fast-paced akuma battles or criminal takedowns she usually wrote about, it was a human interest story about a young woman who came to Paris escaping unrest in her home village. In just a few short years, she and her husband had managed to build one of the most popular gourmet restaurants in the city. It was a locals-only kind of place, tucked into a quiet corner on a narrow street, but it's weekends were booked up for the foreseeable future. What more was that the couple only staffed the homeless and downtrodden. People who desperately needed someone to tell them that there was still hope and you do have value.

" _We practically lived on the street our first year here."_ Magdelena, one of the owners, had told Alya. " _We were so grateful to finally make it to France and to be granted residence, but once we got here, it felt very much like we had no direction. We relied on the kindness of strangers, and on the nights when we couldn't afford a room somewhere and any place of shelter was full, it was others on the street that became our family. They shared their fires and warmth of heart. It's a community of necessity, but it doesn't make it any less real."_

Alya still remembered the fire in her eyes as she said that, clearly protective of those that protected her. When Edmund, her husband, finally found work and they were able to find a small apartment, Magdalena supported their income the way she had before they left home and during their entire journey to Paris. She baked and sold her creations on the street. That turned into a catering business, which turned into a small storefront, which turned into a bustling restaurant. Now, all she wanted was to give hope to the people who comforted her at her most hopeless.

It was a beautiful story, and Alya was determined to do it proper justice. She'd been fortunate enough to stumble upon Maggie one day at the market. The woman had plucked an avocado right out of Alya's hands and replaced it with a ripe one without a word, simply smiling at Alya before continuing on her way. Alya, though, had a gut feeling and followed the smiling woman to thank her. She noticed Maggie's keen eye that surveyed the stands as she picked out produce and how she interacted so familiarly with the vendors and workers alike. Alya couldn't help but follow up her thanks with a few questions. It turned out, Alya was right, there was something remarkable about Magdalena, and she couldn't believe no one had picked up this story yet. It was inspiring, heartwarming, and just downright hopeful. Or, at least, it would be if Alya could get her act together and write it the way it was begging to be written.

She grabbed her coat, buttoning it tightly and wrapping an obnoxiously large blanket scarf to layer on top. Trixx floated over.

"Want to run, love?" She looked so hopeful, and Alya almost relented, but she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, and a sprint through Paris was not going to give her the clarity she needed right now.

"No, Trixxy. I need to walk. You stay here. Stay warm," she scratched her kwami's chin and Trixx smiled, closing her eyes, before looking back at her human with a concerned face.

"Aly, it's late. Are you sure?" She smiled at her little fox. They'd only been together for a little over a year, but as much as Trixx could be her partner in crime, she was also such a worrier. Trixx didn't mind danger, as long as they did it _together_.

"I have my phone. I'll call Mari, or message the computer here, if anything happens. Okay?"

Trixx eventually relented, but only because she knew her human was just as, if not more, stubborn than she was, as impossible as that may seem. Still…

The small fox floated over to the laptop, opening the video chat button that Alya always used and pressed call. A little backup never hurt anyone.

Alya had been walking for the better part of an hour when she finally ended up in a deserted greenspace. Wedged in the middle of a usually busy paseo, the grassy section was lined with sprawling trees that were carefully trimmed to look natural but not be _too_ wild. Alya loved Paris, but sometimes she hated cities in general. She'd grown up in the country and spent her younger years running through fields of wild flowers and sneaking out of the backyard to go into the forest and climb _real_ trees. She was sad that her younger brothers would never know the feeling of standing on the highest branch. It was like realizing you'd been gasping for air your entire life, but suddenly you could take a deep breath. Perched precariously, you could fall at any moment with one wrong move, but you've never felt so alive. She remembered rolling dangerously fast down the hills with her cousins, staining her clothes with the pastels of flower petals and the vibrant green of grass, and not caring one bit. She'd paint her clothes with nature any day. The hills seemed to tumble into eternity, and when the sun was just about to cross the horizon and burst into the day, the world became muddled in blues and purples, destroying the boundaries that separated land from sky. Alya dreamed about walking until she could find it again. Touch the exact point where earth and heavens met. She decided then that she wanted to see the sun rise across the world.

She smiled, looking into the starless sky. It was never quite dark here. In some parts of the city you got glimpses of the stars, but it wasn't quite the same as the countryside. The city, and Paris in particular, definitely had its own appeal, but she never felt like she did on those hills in the country. She craved the open air. No matter where she was, she'd climb to the tallest building, find an open park, and just breath. When she flew as Volpina...that's the closest to completel peace she'd felt since her hills in the country.

A muted flash of green caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to see Nino walk out from behind a nearby tree. _Trixx_ , she rolled her eyes, but wasn't mad. She knew her kwami just worried.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Where I grew up," she responded immediately, turning back to the blank sky as he sat next to her on the bench. She tried to imagine that the twinkling lights from the streetlamps were stars through the sparse canopy of the trees.

"You never talk about it," he murmured, leaning his arm casually behind her on the bench, not quite touching her. She tried to hide her smile at the action. As much as she teased Marinette about her eternal crush on Adrien before they got together, her and Nino may have surpassed them in the slow burn department. She twisted, angling her back towards him and leaned against his chest. She felt him relax at her contact and his arm came to drape over her.

"Yeah, I don't really," she reached up to play with the fingers on his hand hanging over her shoulder. She _didn't_ talk about it. It wasn't that she didn't miss it, because she obviously did, and it wasn't because she wanted to forget. She'd loved her life before Paris, and she loved her life now, just in different ways. It had been hard at first. When her mom got the job as head chef in Paris, it had been impossible to say no; so, the entire family, packed up and moved north. It was bittersweet, and as much as she craved something new, to chase those new horizons, her wildflower, wide open air home was not something she left easily.

"I guess I just want to focus on the present. Paris is my home now." She responded finally, choosing the easy answer, and gave his fingers a squeeze. He reciprocated.

"You can have more than one home, you know. I mean, I've only live here, but I have family in Morocco and Ireland, and both places feel like home, too." Nino spoke gently, as if trying not to startle her from her reverie, and she turned her head to look up at him, wondering how most people missed this side of him. He could always see through people. Give enough without pressuring them to give more. It was a pure kind of perception, not with the goal of a story like her or for the upper hand like Chloe. He genuinely saw people just so they could have the knowledge that _someone_ sees them.

"I know, and I do have multiple places like that. I always leave a bit of me everywhere I live, but it's not so much the where, it's the _how,_ it's the _who_ …" she trailed off. "Feelings can be home, too. _People_ can be home, too." She leaned closer into Nino and felt his nose in his hair and lips on her forehead.

She sat upright suddenly, startling Nino who was immediately on his feet and ready to call his transformation, but she ignored him, immersed in her own revelation. She'd always felt at home in Paris, but she always had other places she called home, too. No matter where she went, though, she found home in the feel of places and the people she found. _The rambunctiousness of her family in Nimes. Marinette's Laughter. Nino's kind eyes. Adrien's sunny smile. Chloe's unwavering loyalty. The open air on her face._

It was the same for Magdalena. She'd created a home in Paris after escaping the violence in her homeland, bouncing around through countries before landing in France. Along the way, it was the _people_ who took her in and shared their warmth. It was the _meals_ they shared and the _hope_ they heralded that carried her through.

"What? What is it, Alys?"

" _People can be home, too_. Nino, I've got it!" She leaned into her impulse, grabbed his face and kissed him soundly. He looked at her with a dazed expression on his face as she grabbed his hand and pulled him to a standing position.

"C'mon, Honu. Take me home. I have a story to write."

She hopped onto his back and he ran off without another word, jumping to the top of the tallest building. The wind in her hair and the open night sky around her, she felt like she was climbing again.

She took a deep breath and held Nino tighter. _Home._

 **AN: Thanks for reading and loving DJWifi like I do!**  
 **To stay UTD on new stories, follow me on tumblr: unforgetabELLE**


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